


This Does Not Further Our Revolutionary Goals!

by Fancifullauren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Almost Crack But Not Really, Kink Meme, Lots of Sex, M/M, Sex, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fancifullauren/pseuds/Fancifullauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Amis distract Grantaire from making a fool out of himself, and Enjolras is not pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Does Not Further Our Revolutionary Goals!

It is a well-known fact amongst Les Amis that Grantaire is an idiot when drunk. 

It is also well-known that Enjolras has little to no patience when it comes to his blatant cynical ideas that he has no qualms about sharing with the rest of the group in drunken rants that rival those of Enjolras in passion and length. And so when Enjolras was forced to hold the ABC meeting in his apartment due to renovations going on at the Musain, he couldn’t avoid Grantaire’s drunken ramblings short of kicking him out; Enjolras was raised to be more cordial than this, though, so a shouting match would have to do. 

The meeting couldn’t have officially ended more than thirty minutes before when the two polar opposites were already engaged in one of these verbal battles. The chatter amongst the group slowly came to cease as all attentions turned to the ensuing drama in the kitchenette. 

“I’m telling you for the last time, you drunken fool, healthcare is a basic human right, not a privilege!” 

“And I’m telling you that you’re an absolute nutjob if you think legislators are actually going to listen to a group of punk-ass college kids!” 

Enjolras exhaled angrily, punching the counter. “Do you really think that anything can be accomplished if we just sit back and let things happen?” He demanded, the fury making his voice crack. 

“I’m saying that the same result will be accomplished, no matter what you do,” he screamed back before knocking a vase of wilting flowers off the counter that shattered upon the ground. 

The dumbfounded revolutionary stared at Grantaire, his mouth agape in shock. He pushed past him as he stormed over to the door, grabbing his keys on the way. 

“Where are you going?” Combeferre asked nervously. 

“Out.” Enjolras deadpanned, “Make sure that buffoon doesn’t fuck up my apartment while I’m gone.” With that, the door slammed and the apartment was left in silence. 

Courfeyrac was the first to speak. “Well, you heard him; we’re not to let Grantaire fuck up the apartment. As far as I’m concerned, there’s really only one option here.” 

“Knock him unconscious?” Bahorel offered, cracking his knuckles. 

Grantaire gulped nervously. 

“No, no, Bahorel; I had something much better in mind,” he said with a devious smile, making his way over to Grantaire. “I thought we might distract him.” He slipped his hands around his waist. 

The look of fear melted off Grantaire’s face, replaced with one of mock coyness. “Oh?” He asked, “And what kind of distraction did you have in mind?” Grantaire couldn’t help but cup Courfeyrac’s face and return the smirk. 

“Jehan, would you mind coming over and showing Grantaire just what kind of distraction I’m referring to?”

All the Amis slowly encroached upon a very pleased R, who found himself becoming more and more sober by the second. Prouvaire waltzed up behind him and whispered into his ear: “I was thinking of a very… distracting… distraction, if you know what I mean,” he insinuated, slipping one hand down the back of his pants. 

“Smooth one, poet,” offered Bossuet, coming forward to lightly stroke Grantaire’s arm. He shivered. 

“Hush, you, I’m just making this up as I go along,” retorted Prouvaire, though his voice wasn’t exactly as condescending as he’d meant it to be – in fact, Bossuet could almost swear there was a lascivious undertone to it. 

“I thought it was rather clever, to be honest,” Joly piped up, coming over on tiptoes to his beloved Laigle to begin to lay kisses on his bared neck. A low rumble of a laugh sounded in Bossuet’s chest – pressed so sinfully flush against Courfeyrac, who was growing increasingly aroused by the situation. He took advantage of Grantaire’s fixation by the lovely couple of Joly and Laigle, the latter of which had repositioned his hand so it was caressing R’s chest, by rocking his hips into the other man’s. Grantaire yelped in surprise, his knees buckling. Luckily Jehan was there to catch him in his left arm, as the right hand was currently occupied in exploring the contours of Grantaire’s ass. 

“We still need to make sure you won’t be a nuisance, though,” Feuilly chimed wickedly, unraveling the scarf from around Prouvaire’s neck. 

“I’ll be good,” Grantaire managed to choke out, “I promise.” 

“Tsk, tsk,” Joly crooned between pecks to the hollow space behind Bossuet’s ear, “If only we could trust you, dear.” 

Grantaire groaned, but made no protest when Feuilly gently grabbed his wrists away from where they had apparently made their way between Courfeyrac’s thighs and tied them together behind his back. 

“Come now,” Feuilly instructed, pulling lightly on his new leash, “let’s get you tied up somewhere safe.” 

It was an awkward and slightly humiliating walk as he shuffled backwards behind Feuilly, the other Amis trailing behind him like hungry vultures. 

Combeferre turned to Bahorel. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” He stammered. 

Bahorel just laughed. “If you’re so uncomfortable with it, we can stay out here and get into our own kind of trouble.” 

“No, no, that’s fine.” 

“Or we could get into our own kind of trouble with them,” he offered, pressing himself close to the scholar. 

“Are- are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“Loosen up, Combeferre! This could be fun,” Bahorel sighed into his ear, licking along the edge. Combeferre whimpered in desire, so the strong man lifted him up and carried him behind the train of hungry beasts. 

When Feuilly had successfully secured the liability to the headboard of Enjolras’ bed, the Amis crowded around him. 

“Well?” Grantaire prompted, “Who will be distracting me first?” 

Feuilly snickered. “Patience.” 

“Yes, dear,” crooned Jehan, “good things come to boys who wait.” 

Grantaire struggled against his restraints a bit; not enough to break free, only enough to show his displeasure. His arousal was making itself clear in his pants, and Courfeyrac looked down at him hungrily. 

“What do you think, poet? Shall we take him first?” Mused the center. 

“Lead on,” Jehan replied, turning his hazel eyes darkened with lust to meet Grantaire’s wild brown ones. 

Courfeyrac and Prouvaire made a show of taking off their garments slowly, painfully slowly, until they were standing naked in front of him. Bossuet grinned, encircling Joly in a strong embrace, who let out a light moan himself at the sight of the two men in front of him. Laigle took this as a cue to palm his boyfriend’s hardness through his paints, making the premed student’s legs shake. He braced himself against the larger man as he made shallow thrusting motions into the cup of Bossuet’s hand. 

Meanwhile, Courfeyrac took it upon himself to leap upon a painfully turned-on Grantaire, whose breathing was becoming heavier with every dry push of his hips. Jehan slithered up underneath his lover and began working off the artist’s jeans with his teeth. Feeling the softness of Prouvaire’s hair underneath his cock, Courfeyrac leaned his pelvis down to rub himself against the wavy auburn locks. This in turn caused Jehan’s face to press up against the dark curls at the base of Grantaire’s now-exposed shaft. It took all of R’s willpower not to thrust his hips up into Jehan’s face in fear of smothering the poor poet between himself and Courfeyrac. But Jehan powered on, taking the entirety of Grantaire’s length into his mouth in one go, hands massaging his inner thighs. Courfeyrac leaned forward to kiss Grantaire’s mouth hungrily, biting and licking and groaning in a display of nearly animalistic desire. 

With the three men having their fun on the bed and the other two couples going at it in their own separate corners, Feuilly was left with an overload of magnificent masturbation material. He took advantage of the situation by shedding his pants and lying down at the foot of the bed, stroking himself as he watched his two friends ravish the drunk. 

The writhing mess of limbs on the bed moved in tandem. Courfeyrac turned himself around so Grantaire could envelop his cock in a beautiful wet heat while he watched his poet go down on the artist. It seemed as if the latter was pouring all his effort into giving Courfeyrac a marvelous experience, because his head was bobbing up and down at a mercilessly quick pace, swallowing and sucking at just the right times; Courf couldn’t help but rock his hips forward in time with him. 

Whenever Grantaire groaned in pleasure, it would send a shock up his body, making him lean into Jehan’s soft hair, or bite down on Grantaire’s hip, depending on whichever was closest at the time. 

Nobody heard the door creak open. They did, however, hear Enjolras’ tortured screech. 

“WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING?!” 

Feuilly snapped up first, his eyes glazed over with pleasure. “We can explain…” 

“IN MY GODDAMN BEDROOM.” 

“Wait,” Combeferre said, looking absolutely mortified from where he was seated on Bahorel’s dick, “this isn’t what you think.” 

“Actually,” Courfeyrac laughed, “It’s exactly what you think.” 

“Get the fuck out of my apartment. All of you. Right now. 

“You sure you don’t want to join in?” Prouvaire asked with a wink after he had let Grantaire’s still achingly hard cock out of his mouth. 

“Right. Now.”


End file.
